The Living Memory
by Rieki
Summary: Sirius Malfoy never knew his Dad, though he liked to think that he could remember him anyway. A trip into the attic, and the uncovering of a trunk, will give him the opportunity to know him in the only way he can.Through his Dad's memories. DMHP
1. Prologue

Not epilogue complaint.

Disclaimer: HP is not mine.

The Living Memory

Prologue

Sirius Abraxas Malfoy was beyond bored. The manor was silent, his father was at work, and even the house elves had the day off. He could have fire called his cousins but they were all out at Diagon Alley, shopping for Hogwarts. He had to admit, he was rather envious. Sirius didn't get to go to Hogwarts for a whole other year. Sighing, he rolled over onto his back, staring at the canopy above his bed. He brushed pale messy bangs out of his grey eyes and frowned.

There wasn't much to do on one's own. Sirius wasn't much of a reader. He enjoyed a good science fiction book, given to him by his Aunt Hermione, every once in a while, but more often then not he would rather play quidditch. He glanced outside the window, but a sound above him, causes his eyes to drift upward once again. . And not for the first time he wondered what was in the attic.

His father always promised that they would go up there together and explore one day, but that day hadn't come yet. Surely, Father wouldn't mind if he went and investigated himself, would he? Sirius contemplated the pros and cons of his possible adventure. On one hand he would probably be grounded and confined to his room. On the other that wasn't much different than what he was doing now. It was decided then. Sirius rolled over and jumped off his bed. To the attic! But first.. Supplies!

And so it was, fifteen minutes later that Sirius was armed with a flashlight, a satchel to place any finds in, and a pair of peanut butter sandwiches that he was climbing the stairs to the attic door. He swallowed heavily as he pushed the door open and pulled himself inside. It was dark but there was a pull near by that turned on the lights. It was obvious there were no self cleaning charms on the attic, nor that any house elves ever visited this part of the manor. There was dust everywhere, and as he walked across the wooden planks, he made footprints in his wake. Still, it was every little boys dream. There were things covered with drapes, boxes, and trunks, and all manner of things that he could look into. It didn't occur to him that there might be a reason that he wasn't to go wandering on his own, and that in one of the various objects there might be some danger.

Luckily for him though there would be no need for him to worry, as his eyes were irresistibly drawn to one corner of the large space. A flash of gold, there! It sparkled in the light that was cast through the slats in the window to one end, letting in a limited amount of sunlight through the grimy panes. He pulled his satchel strap over his other shoulder so that it could hang across his back, and made his way over to the bit of gold.

It was a snitch! But why would it be up here? Sirius had been begging for a practice snitch forever, but his father had refused to buy him one. It was one of the few things he was actually refused. His father was often away and when he came back it seemed he tried to assuage his guilt with material things. As he reached out to touch it, the wings gave a flutter, causing him to jump back. In turn the snitch rose and shot off.

"Oh no!" Sirius cried, racing after it. "Come back!" Father was going to kill him. He couldn't have a snitch running about the attic, bouncing into things, and making noise. Father would investigate, and would see his footprints and he would know.

His running stirred up the dust around him, causing his eyes to water, and a few sneezes. And caused the accident that would bring a new meaning to his life. As he tried to rub at his eyes while running, he missed the trunk sitting in front of him. He went over it, heads over heels, his shins smarting. He turned and kicked childishly at the thing, but only succeeded in hurting his foot. Bringing the appendage closer, he rubbed it, glaring at the wooden object. At least, he glared until he caught site of what was engraved upon it.

"H J P" he whispered out loud and there was a fluttering in his chest, like that of the snitch's wings he had just attempted to catch. His body felt cold and his hands trembled as small fingers ran over the grooves. Those were his Dad's initials. He didn't remember him, he had died when he was very young, but sometimes Sirius dreamed about him, or believed he remembered the things that people said about him. Like the color of his eyes, sometimes Sirius wished his eyes were green, but he had been told numerous times that the had his Dad's smile. He supposed he would have to, his Father didn't smile very often at all.

When he was younger he would like to pick out green objects, such as a vase, a leaf, or a piece of clothing, and ask if that was the kind of green that his Dad's eyes were like. His Father's mask, as Sirius liked to call it, would appear and he would shake his head.

After one such round of questioning, his Father had finally stopped him with a sharp word that had caused tears to come to his eyes. Sirius had apologized and promised he wouldn't ask anymore questions about his Dad again. This seemed to crack his Father's mask for he had pulled Sirius into a hug and told him that he should never stop asking, and that he had something special to give him. That evening he was given a photo album and he finally found out the reason why his Father could never answer what kind of green his dad's eyes were. There was no comparison to be made that would describe them.

He had stared at the pictures for what seemed like hours. There weren't many, his father explained that his dad was camera shy, and what pictures there were, were taken by a Colin Creevey, who had died during the war, or a self timed camera. Any other pictures, his Father had explained, were of picture Harry trying to escape into the edges of the photograph.

Sirius, personally, loved to have his picture taken and would often times pose for them too. His Grandpa Arthur often laughed at him for it and said that he had definitely got that from his Father, before he would look a little worried and ask him to please not repeat that he had said that.

Sirius smoothed his hands over the top of the trunk, brushing the dust away from it, revealing the warm wood color below. He took a deep breath, his small chest rising and falling, though it felt there was a great weight upon it, and he opened it slowly and carefully, though all he wished to do was fling it open in one go. He was actually afraid to open it, afraid that it would hold nothing, that whatever might be in there would not be his Dad's but rather the trunk was just used for storage of menial things.

He gathered his courage, and pushed the lid open and his breath caught in his throat at what was held inside. It wasn't empty after all.

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Please let me know what you think! Would very much appreciate your input!


	2. Chapter 1

The Living Memory

Part 1

_Sirius smoothed his hands over the top of the trunk, brushing the dust away from it, revealing the warm wood color below. He took a deep breath, his small chest rising and falling, though it felt there was a great weight upon it, and he opened it slowly and carefully, though all he wished to do was fling it open in one go. He was actually afraid to open it, afraid that it would hold nothing, that whatever might be in there would not be his Dad's but rather the trunk was just used for storage of menial things._

_He gathered his courage, and pushed the lid open and his breath caught in his throat at what was held inside. It wasn't empty after all._

There was red and gold scarf upon black fabric, and Sirius knew it was his Dad's old Hogwarts uniform. His small fingers trembled as he ran his hand over the wool, afraid that it would disappear or crumble to dust. His Dad had _worn _this, had been alive in it, ran, played, studied. Sirius felt tears come to his eyes and he felt that hollow hole in his chest more acutely then he had in a while.

Biting his lip, he carefully removed the scarf, and wrapped it around his own neck, before taking the folded robes and placing them on his lap and not on the floor. Somehow, it seemed wrong to do so. There were some other clothes there too, a jumper that Sirius recognized as one that Grandma Weasley probably made, some white shirts and gold and red ties, and oddly enough a Slytherin one.

Digging further, he didn't pause to wonder at the depth of it, many things in the Wizarding World were not what they seemed, and this trunk was no different. His hands hit something smooth and solid and he lifted it with the realization that there must be a strong lightening charm on it. He placed it gently on the floor beside him, removed the pile of clothes from his lap and placed them in the trunk.

There was a silver latch on the box and Sirius' hand tingled as he touched it to flip it. Startled he pulled his hand back and expected it, but there was nothing wrong with it. Frowning he touched the latch again, but felt nothing this time. With a shrug of his shoulders he flipped it, and pushed the lid back. There was a letter on top of yet another box, and he picked it up with care, running his fingers over the name upon it. _Sirius_.

His hands shook as he carefully broke the seal and unrolled the parchment, his breath catching in his throat at the words written there. The handwriting was nothing like his Father's, which was cursive, flowing, and all together elegant. It was more like chicken scratch, from someone who had grown up without using a quill and had never really been able to get the hang of it. Sirius liked to think it had character, but knew his Father would have a rather different adjective for it all together.

_My little star,_

_Or perhaps you aren't so small anymore. Sirius, then, if you object to that. _Sirius did not object at all, he could not remember a time when he had been called such a nickname, and wished that he could. _I suppose if you're reading this, than the cure wasn't found, and while I do not fear my death, I fear leaving you to grow up without me. I know how you must feel, but you have your father and I'm sure he will tell you all sorts of stories about me. Don't believe all of them, alright? Go to your Aunt Hermione and Uncle Ron if he starts saying anything too outlandishly Slytherin. Growing up with your father, I'm sure you'll understand what I mean by that. While stories are wonderful, and I loved hearing them about my Mum and Dad, your grandmother and grandfather, I always wanted more, I wanted them there with me, as impossible as that was and is. While I could not have that wish granted, and cannot grant yours, I have done what I could. In this box are several of my memories. _Sirius gasped, silver eyes a storm of emotions, wide and in shock as he looked at the box in his lap. He couldn't help but to lift the lid then and there, and sure enough there were several vials, all with neat labels upon them and filled with what appeared to be silver liquid. Beneath that was a shallow basin, a pensieve! He swallowed heavily and went back to the letter. _I leave them to you and your father to share. I know some of them will be difficult to watch and perhaps difficult to understand so I have placed two memories within each, the first a sort of commentary given now… or I suppose that's not right for you, but for me it has been the last couple of weeks, and the second the memory itself. Take care of yourself and know that I love you and please, Sirius, take care of your father. I'm sure you know how he can be. Don't let him hide himself away._

_Love you,_

_Dad_

Sirius bit his lip, torn. The letter said to share them with his father, but he was afraid of his father's response. He never talked about his dad, or not often anyway, and it always seemed to pain him. And he wouldn't be very happy with Sirius for going up into the attic on his own either when he had been told that he wasn't allowed. The letter said to share them, but not when he should, or even that they had to view them together! Sirius could watch them, and then put them and the trunk back, and his father wouldn't be any the wiser when Sirius demanded he take him up to the attic! Then they could "stumble" upon it together! It was genius and Sirius preened a little at the brilliance of his plan.

There was still more in the trunk, and while he held interest in it, he could not concentrate on anything else but the treasure in his hands. Taking a steadying breath, he placed it gently back into the trunk, unwound the scarf from his neck and doing the same with it, and closed the lid. He would have to be quick if he wanted to get the trunk down to his room and hidden before his father got home.

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Sirius stared at himself in his mirror. He was dirty, sweaty, and all around just in a state of disarray. It had been harder than he thought to get the trunk down ,despite the lightening charms that had been built into it. There had been a moment on the stairs that he had thought he might lose his grip, but thankfully he had been able to regain his balance. The trunk was now safely stowed away in the back of his rather sizeable closet, under his dress robes that he only ever wore at Christmas, so he was sure his father would never look there.

Now, all he needed was a shower, and a change of clothes, and then tonight when his father went to bed Sirius would finally learn who his dad was, the man that it pained so many to talk about, even now.

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The chapters of this story will be short, I will tell you that now, so please don't expect 5,000 word updates. I think this is one of the stories that if I do that many words for one instance, it might be too much, and each memory will be it's own chapter. Some will be longer, some will be shorter. This story is done for my own enjoyment and I hope others enjoy it too. Please review!


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